Nothing To Hide
by karebear
Summary: Peter Parker is not an Avenger. At this point, Tony Stark is barely one himself. [A conversation taking place immediately after Civil War]


"You're Tony Stark!"

The kid looks at him with wide eyes. Hero worship. It's not something Tony's used to seeing. Not anymore, if he ever was. Maybe once, a long time ago. When Iron Man was something new, and people weren't terrified.

He's torn between snapping at the high school student and telling him, as gently as he is able, that he's making a huge mistake looking at such a miserable screwup like he's something to aspire to. Instead, he clears his throat softly and plasters on a familiar fake smile, and waves his hand toward his chest. The faint blue glow that used to so easily identify him as something more than human is no longer there, but he likes to imagine that he can still feel the erratic tripping of his heartbeat, an invisible defect under the skin. There are a lot of those.

"That's me," he says, all full of good cheer. Shiny and new, and like he's ready to take on the world.

The kid doesn't see anything wrong.

After the mission, it's different, a little. Some of that bright coat of new paint has been rubbed away, some of the idealism is gone. The kid still grins, still looks wide-eyed and excited, he talks a mile a minute about the things he's invented, the tech and gadgets and gear. It pulls at a part of Tony that's been dormant for so long he'd forgotten what it's like to feel it - the part that can talk, peer to peer, with someone who understands taking things apart and putting them back together for the sake of it. But Peter Parker doesn't talk about the hero stuff - the fighting, or the saving. He doesn't talk about the tabloids or the rumors and whispers, all the people who get it all so wrong. He retreats into a shell, his little world. A tiny bedroom in a tiny apartment with an unusually attractive aunt. He doesn't talk about his parents either. Tony doesn't ask. But he recognizes something familiar in the kid: in the way he latches onto Tony immediately, in the way he never stops moving, pacing, rambling, _seeking_. Trying to fix something that is not fixable. They're all like that, at least a little bit. Even Steve, All-American and clean and boring as vanilla ice cream or white bread. Even Steve is trying to fill the hole of everything that he has lost in a lifetime that's stretched far too long and at the same time will never be - _can_ never be - long enough.

Tony tries to remember who first started calling them the Avengers. It's a good name. Solid. And accurate. They're not "heroes," which is a word the news media likes to throw around far too often for his taste. They're not in this to save people, not really. They're trying to even the unbalanced scales, to make up for all of the damage that has already been done. And there has been so much damage.

Peter Parker sits perched atop his desk, tucked into the corner of his small and crowded bedroom. He glances up at Tony, doesn't blink. Doesn't talk, either, and it's the first silence that Tony can remember since he met the kid. It catches him off-guard. He tries to remember what they had been talking about, before Peter lapsed into this sudden quiet.

The teenager licks his lips, and tilts his head back, and the nervousness and fear of disapproval is so obvious that Tony swears he can feel it as a physical sensation. He frowns, wondering what's up with the kid. So, finally, he just asks the question, out loud: "What's up with you, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Peter protests, reflexively, and Tony just snorts.

"Tell me again about the 'really old movie,'" he prompts.

Peter says nothing, not for a while anyway, and Tony listens to his own heartbeat instead of the kid's voice. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump._ Too fast in the quiet. It's always too fast.

"I don't want to have to register," the kid finally says.

 _Thump-thump. Thump-thump._ "What?" Tony asks stupidly. Of course, by the time the word is halfway out of his mouth, his brain has caught up again, and he understands what the kid is talking about: the Sokovia Accords.

Tony clears his throat. He shakes his head. He puts on that easy, lazy grin. "It's nothing to worry about, kid. Nobody'll see that list. It's for your safety."

Peter Parker may be young, but he's not stupid, and the incredulous look he gives Tony speaks volumes. "You're Tony _Stark_ ," he insists, and his mouth is half-open and this time it's not hero-worship; it's disbelief that Tony could actually be so stupid. "You have to know how hacking works. Once something's written down, once it's out there… it's _out there_. Anyone can get it. Everyone will see it." He hangs a little to long on that one word: _will_. As though it's inevitable. As though it's basically already happened. The thought of it actually sends a little shiver of fear down Tony's spine. He shakes it off. Keeps the smile on his face. Gives Peter an easy shrug.

"So what, kid? I've got nothing to hide."

"I do!" Peter insists. The young man's voice is startlingly loud, and powerful. Commanding. Tony thinks about the way the kid fought and makes a mental promise never to make fun of the costume again. Tony's suits are really much more like armor, an updated version of the full-body shields of metal that medieval knights once wore. And they can _fly_. It's easy to pretend to be invincible while wearing them. It's easy to imagine he's protected. What does Peter have? Thin cloth, already tattered all to hell after one battle, and some high tech sticky string. He is trying so very hard to do the right thing, though. Tony came here to scout the kid out as maybe one of the Avengers, but he can already tell that he was wrong, about that at least: Peter Parker isn't one of them. He's damaged a little, but he's young and resilient and he isn't irreparably broken and Tony doesn't want to be the one to push him over that edge. The Spider-Man can be a hero. A good story, someone for kids to look up to and cheer for. That might make Peter feel good. But it won't happen if he doesn't register. He can't protect anyone if he himself is hunted.

"Come on, kid," he pleads, but Peter has already turned his back on Tony and is doing his damnedest to pretend he's all by himself here in this cramped and cluttered bedroom. Tony can't stand being ignored, he hates sitting here in this sudden quiet.

 _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump,_ his heartbeat patters fast against the inside of his chest and there's a roaring in his ears and his thoughts are racing and the fear is squeezing tight around him. What if he can't convince the kid? What if it all falls apart?

He swallows heart, and forces the panic to quiet as much as he can. He hopes his enough. He opens his mouth, and one word manages to tumble out. "Why?" he asks. Peter jumps. Turns out the kid was listening after all.

"I don't want them coming after Aunt May," he says, as though this is perfectly reasonable.

"Them who?" Tony asks. "The list is for the good guys."

"There aren't any _good guys_ ," Peter responds. "Not in things like this."

"Have you been talking to Steve?"

"Who's Steve?"

"Never mind. Look kid, I promise, nothing's gonna happen to your aunt."

"You can't promise that."

"I'll look after her myself if I have to."

"You don't have to. _I_ have to. And I can't do that if people know about us. If they know who I am. Where I am."

"You're paranoid," Tony mutters, but the admonition is just another reason why he likes the kid so much. They have a lot in common. So much more than just technical skill and boundless curiosity. But Peter Parker hasn't lost everything. Not yet. And what he still has, Tony can help him keep.

Peter Parker has the same initials as Pepper Potts. That had never quite cemented in Tony's brain until this moment, but now he can't unsee it. He blows out a long breath, squeezes his eyes shut, makes a decision. "Fine, kid," he says. "You don't have to sign the thing."

"Really?"

Tony shrugs. "Who has to know? Just… just be careful, okay?"

Peter grins at him. And that hero worship is there in his eyes again. Tony tries not to let it make him feel so uncomfortable. He tries to relax into it, like he did all those years ago. And as Peter turns back to his… God help him, his _homework_ , Tony slips out onto the rickety fire escape and mixes in with New York City's churning crowds. He debates with himself, whispering aloud, for several long minutes before he takes his phone out and punches in a number he still knows by heart. She doesn't pick up, but he leaves a message he has never left, not in all the countless times he's done this.

"Pepper, honey," he whispers, his voice scratchy and hoarse as he clutches his little phone like a lifeline. "I miss you. I miss you, and I need you, and I don't want to take a break anymore. Please, honey. Please, please, call me back."

He runs into the nearest subway station. Deep underground, there won't be any cell reception, and he can pretend that that's the reason why she won't call him back.


End file.
